


Fragrance

by Auntvodkacat



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntvodkacat/pseuds/Auntvodkacat
Summary: ...





	

When she first catches whiff of the fragrance that morning, Morinthe thinks it’s just her imagination. A fleeting mote of flora, jasmines. She’s never seen any growing in the courtyard, but she could always be wrong. She’s not exactly an expert or anything. It’s probably just wafting in through the window, she rationalizes.

 

The sheets are a tangled mess around her legs, knotting her in place. Morinthe is seriously considering just forgetting about today in general. Corypheus, Coryphenus, right? She knows that she won’t just lie here all day being the kind of person she is, but it’s a nice fantasy at least.

 

Morinthe manages to drag herself up eventually. She swings her legs over the side of the bed; with her eyes she traces the crescent-moon marks on her inner thighs. There’s even more on her chest, but as far as she can see she’s clear above the collar. Considerate, that-- at least they’ll be easy to cover.

 

She selects, instead of her usual attire, an airy white, cotton shirt that hangs loosely about her shoulders with some khaki colored leggings. Morinthe may or may not have stolen the shirt at one point or another, but it looks presentable enough once she tucks it in, despite being made for a larger man.

 

By the time she’s walking down the stairs, the phantom fragrance is almost entirely out of her mind, but the mystery of the smell continues onward, however.

 

Morinthe triumphantly holds up the tightly knotted file folder full of about two months of procrastination and aching, ink smeared finger tips as she steps into Josephine’s office. The Antivan breaks out into a relieved grin, and Josephine is apparently so excited that Morinthe has gotten her crap together that she stands up from her desk and practically skips to meet her.

 

“Thank the Maker!” she exclaims in her jittery, Josephine-y way, trying to stay reserved still. It’s somewhat discouraging. Morinthe has tried to become closer to her, just as she has with all of her circle, but there’s a certain amount of polite distance remaining. It’s one of the main things she hates about the whole Herald business, everyone treating her like a monolithe. There’s a similar problem with Cassandra and Blackwall too. No matter, she’ll get them one of these days.

 

“ _ Ir abelas _ ,” Morinthe sheepishly sighs. “I had, um, meant to get these dealt with sooner. I got distracted.”

 

“Please, think nothing of it.” Josephine says holding her hands up in front of her. “You have so much on your hands already. I only wish there was a way I could delegate the issue.”

 

“My handwriting is bad enough. I’m sure if you hired someone to put senseless scribbles on things whenever you need my signature no one would be able to tell any difference.” Morinthe offers with a shrug. “It’s alright, though. My, ah, work ethic hasn’t been what it ought to be lately.”

 

She’d only remembered the remaining papers at about three in the morning, and the deadline Josephine had been silently panicking about like she’d been about to burst into flames. Morinthe hadn’t been exactly engrossed in her other inquisitorial duties, either. She’s rather easily distracted as of late.

 

“Thank you, either way.” Josephine gushes again, graciously taking the packet as though she’s a pauper being given her first scrap of bread in weeks. As she begins to turn away, however, Josephine pauses with a slight, bewildered frown. “Are you trying out a new perfume, Inquisitor? I’d never known you to wear them before…”

 

“No.” Morinthe replied with a raised brow. “I thought it was just… Never mind. Maybe it’s soap or something. This shirt was just washed the other day.”

 

“It seems rather, ah, strong ma’am, for detergent. And I’ve never known the washmaids to use that scent before.” Josephine considers.

 

“I don’t need to take a bath or anything, do I? Is it really that bad?” Morinthe whispers, catching her lip with her teeth self consciously.

 

“No, no of course not!” Josephine quickly assures her. “It is quite lovely, just, rather distinct.”

 

“Odd.” Morinthe tuts, but she shakes her head. “Whatever, I suppose it doesn’t matter. It will probably go away soon. I shan’t keep you any longer, Josephine.”

 

“Nor I you, Inquisitor.” Josephine replies in turn. She gives a darling little curtsey and continues, “Good day to you, Mistress Lavellan.”

 

“Morinthe.” She corrects pointedly. Then, she turns away and walks out into the hall once more.

 

Josephine doesn’t seem to be alone in her observation. It’s rather normal for Morinthe to get looks as she walks about, but these are different. Nobles not evening facing her direction stop mid conversation to turn about with their noses higher than usual to track down the mysterious smell. 

 

Morinthe has never particularly enjoyed the attention she gets from being the figurehead. She probably wouldn’t have even accepted if she hadn’t been put on the spot and practically exhorted into taking the role of inquisitor. So, this is definitely a less than favorable situation.

 

Morinthe rolls down her sleeves in the hope that it might help matters at least a little. She is, unfortunately, disappointed.

 

She grows progressively more and more irritated as she has the same conversation with basically every person she visits with. “No, I can’t tell you where I got it. It isn’t a perfume, but thank you Vivienne,” then, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is Sera. If bees start to swarm, I’ll let you know,” and finally “Woah girl, no, I don’t have any treats for you  _ falon,  _ I’m sorry. I’ll bring you some dandelions later, I swear.”

 

It’s exhausting and frustrating, like most unsolvable puzzles, and the lingering miasma doesn’t seem to be fading either. Fed up and tired, she decides to do as she often does whenever she needs to recharge. Go to the rotunda.

 

Solas is reading, as per the usual, but he’s not at his desk or taking notes. He’s almost lazily reclining on the the couch, leg across his knee and his arm draped over the back.

 

Morinthe tilts her head in confusion, but ultimately doesn’t think much of it. She is always telling him to ease up a bit anyway, isn’t she?

 

He looks up once she’s closed about half the distance between them, and he smiles. Again, it’s a little strange, though. More like the ghost of a smirk. There’s a strange intensity to his eyes too that she can’t quite place. It’s striking enough to make her stop in her tracks, but Morinthe quickly shrugs off her trepidation. She’s making something out of practically nothing. Then again, Solas has always kept his deepest emotions hidden behind the tiniest of gestures.

 

He sets the book down beside him, and Morinthe moves to sit on the other side of the couch. Solas with the gentlest and yet most insistent of touches, catches her by the elbow and tugs her down into his lap instead. She settles with her back against his chest, and she glances up to see if anyone is leering over the side of the railing. Solas seems remarkably unconcerned, however.

 

His lips lightly brush over her neck as he dips his nose down along her jawline and deeply inhales.

 

Morinthe chuckles in exasperation. “Like it do you? Good, because I can’t seem to be rid of this. It’s been quite the point of interest today.”

 

Solas’ chest begins to silently rumble, and Morinthe scowls. He’s laughing at her because he knows something that she doesn’t. She hates it when he does this. He’s usually more than happy to explain away for days on end when she doesn’t understand, but every now and again, he gets in the mood to play with her. The ass.

 

“What?” she scoffs. “If you’ve got something to do with mmph-” It’s a rather soft kiss, nowhere near the hungry sort she’s seen from him in the past, but it’s ridiculously slow and lingering. Even when he pulls away, he holds onto her bottom lip with his teeth for just a fraction of an instant more before he finally backs off.

 

Morinthe just stares at him for a moment or two, and he does that infuriatingly cocky silent laugh again.

 

“You do remember what I told you about that pouting habit of yours.” he purrs.

 

“I have a naturally pouty face.” Morinthe huffs, though she’s more aware of her face this time. Her lips remain strictly tight. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

 

“I know.” he murmurs, running his fingers down the length of her throat.

 

“And yet you punish me for it anyway. Because you’re a jerk.” Morinthe sighs. She tries to sit up, only to have her attempt very suddenly foiled. She’s instantly enclosed, like a bug in a flytrap. His long fingers easily wrap around her tiny shoulders and his arms cross over her chest, and Morinthe realizes with a stone of dread dropping in her stomach that she is utterly stuck. And now he’s smelling her again. He has his eyes closed and a soft, contented smile on his face.

 

“It’s really unfair of you to take advantage of my smallness like this. I mean, isn’t this what Cassandra’s for? Keeping the big ones off of me so I can shoot things at them? That Seeker is seriously slacking off. I should dox her pay.” Morinthe mutters bitterly.

 

“I did not realize we were a for profit organization.” He says. “I have thus far been yet to receive any salary for my services.”

 

He’s still got that weird tone in his voice. Kind of like how someone talking to a cat, but not at all. Way more sexual, even though he’s not saying anything to do with that. And it’s not like the way she hears arrogant noblemen talk down to girls they think are young and easy to manipulate either. She’s not particularly good at explaining it, even to herself. All she knows is that she’s got goosebumps all over her arms and is feeling a little nauseous. She’s torn between asking for more and running away screaming.

 

“You’re alright…” he whispers, smoothing his hands up and down her shoulders. Her stiffened frame reflexively eases a bit. It’s frightening how, in such little time, he’s managed to worm himself that deeply into her psyche. Maybe it’s just cynicism, but she can’t help but feel like this is going to screw her over in the long run. But, for now, it’s nice to have his support.

 

He starts whispering under his breath, and as the air brushes against her neck it tingles on the surface of her skin warmly. It’s elvhen, and she’s unfortunately nowhere near fluent enough to be able to understand what he’s saying, other than bits and pieces here and there.

 

What she does know, though, is that the jasmines come back in full force. She can feel the magic physically weaving its way into and under her skin like tiny threads.

 

“You!” Morinthe gasps indignantly. Or squeaks, really. It hits her; last night he’d done the same thing. She’d been distracted, obviously, and a little bit drunk. So, she’d assumed that it had just been elvhen pillow talk or something, and it isn’t exactly unusual for Solas to use a bit of magic as well in that situation. She’d thought nothing of the words he’d pressed into her wrists and to her collar at the time. “Do you know how annoying this has been?”

 

“Do you not like it?” He asks pulling away. “I had thought that scent would suit you. Have you something else in mind, perhaps?”

 

“No, it’s fine.” she says, looking down at her hands. “I just wish you’d told me first before you did, whatever that was.”

 

“Ah, yes. I agree. It was rather rash of me.” He relents. Thank the Creators, he sounds like himself again. Weird Solas is admittedly kind of hot, but really overwhelming in full force. “I could cast it off, if you’d prefer.”

 

“It’s okay, really. I’m just confused, Solas.” Morinthe says. “What is it? Is it some kind of ancient perfume spell or something?”

 

Solas chuckles, “Not quite, love. That is only a superficial effect. The rest may be lost in translation, unfortunately.” So much for normal Solas. He seems to have some sort of strange fascination with her neck all of the sudden, because he punctuates the thought with a swipe of his tongue over her pulse point. Morinthe feels him smile at her sharp intake of breath. “I truly ought to get ahold of myself. Must you make it so difficult for me,  _ vhenan _ ?”

 

“Hey, you can’t blame me for any of this.” she nervously laughs, trying to bring some brevity back to things. It fails, apparently.

 

“Can’t I now?” he murmurs. His right hand begins to wander, and it slips between the still closed buttons of her shirt and circles her navel. “No, I suppose not. I cannot use you as an excuse for my behavior.”

 

“Hey Solas?” She whispers.

 

“Hmm?” He cups the back of her left hand and raises it so that he can whisper into her wrist. The right one quickly follows.

 

“I, ah, do have some other things that I need to be doing today. There’s the reports from the Emerald Graves that I have to go over with Cullen.” It’s true, but it’s mostly an excuse. She has to have air.

 

“Alright, then.” He says. She’s studied him enough by now to hear the reluctance hidden behind his voice. “I will see you later?”

 

“Maybe.” she says. “It depends on how things turn out. I was up really late last night, or this morning really. I’d like to get some sleep.”

 

“Of course.” he replies, and the snare finally loosens. Solas pecks her on the cheek, light and casual. “ _ Dareth Shiral, ma asha. _ ”

 

As she sits up, though, he briefly catches the tip of her ear in his teeth. Morinthe whirls around, arms crossed, but he only innocently blinks at her. “ _ Vhenan _ ?”

 

“I’ll get you back for all this, you know. Just you wait.” Morinthe hisses, pointing her finger at him accusingly.

 

Solas does something that makes all of the blood drain out of her head. It’s partly that relaxed, lion like posture, his elbow now resting on the armrest. He looks up at her through half lidded eyes, and he faintly smiles, white teeth flashing against pink lips.

 

“Must I wait?”

 

Morinthe swallows hard and turns on her heel. It’s rather brusk, but she doesn’t trust herself to not say something embarrassing. It’s rather sad, really. She’s not some blushing, sheltered virgin or anything. What’s got her so damn flustered? Maybe it’s just how unprepared she’d been to see this side of him. He’s usually so damn reserved; she has to bend over backwards to even get him to hold her hand some days. Revenge is definitely in order, though she’ll have to be creative. She may have to do some more research as well.

 

Regardless, this conversation with Cullen is going to be difficult to focus on.

 

Hours pass, and she still can’t get it out of her head. She can’t ask her usual source for information, being as difficult as he is right now, so, she goes to the next best person, or spirit…

 

“Cole,” she calls that night from her balcony. “I need-”

 

“Help.” He finishes for her as he suddenly appears crouched on the railing Morinthe nearly falls off said balcony, but that’s what the railing is for. “Yes, I can.”

 

“What is Solas doing?” She asks. “Or thinking anyway?”

 

“I am not sure. A lot is shrouded in mist, kept away, but I do hear some things when he is not paying attention.” Cole muses, a thumb to his chin. “Flashes of white in a sea of green, lazy sunlight through drooping lids. Sweetness carried on a sigh through the shuddering leaves. He thinks of you often.”

 

“I’d gathered.” Morinthe chuckles. She leans over the railing, propping her weight on her elbows. “I don’t understand what exactly he’s up to, though. Is it some sort of ancient elvhen practice or something?”

 

“When all rang one and the same, yes. The songs fall deaf ears, though he will sing them regardless, all for you.” Cole provides, head cocked to the side. “It won’t be the same, no, but he will understand. It is what he wants, but won’t dare ask for.”

 

“I should do it, then? Even if I can’t do all the fancy magic, or speak elvhen?” She whispers with a frail smile.

 

“Yes. You must. He needs to know.” Cole insists, nodding vigorously. “‘You change everything.’”

 

“You know, Cole, I really only understand half of what’s coming out of you right now, but thanks.” Morinthe says. She lets her face sink into her hands; why does she always feel so emotionally exhausted after talking to this kid?

 

“Helped.” He breathes, giving the closest thing to a grin that she’d ever seen on Cole. “If it does not work out right, I can make him forget. So that you can try again, if you like?”

 

Morinthe snorts in surprise. “No, I don’t think so. Solas probably couldn’t think I was any dumber if I tried.”

 

“Probably not.” he concedes. “You will make the right choice. You always do for him, whether he knows it or not.”

 

“Thank you, Cole. I’d like to go to bed now. See you later.” Morinthe says.

 

“Yes.” He replies, and he’s gone in the next instant. Someone else probably needs him.

 

Morinthe turns away and heads back into her room, mind already whirling with possibilities. It will be difficult to get to sleep tonight, but she’ll have to manage. She has shopping to do.

 

Everyone’s a bit caught off guard when she suddenly decides to go to Orlais, not exactly a short journey, without prior announcement. Stranger still, the person she drags along with her.

 

Yes, maybe it’s a bit uncouth to make her ambassador take a few days of forced vacation with her, but a figurehead has to abuse her power every now and again. It’s for the Antivan’s own good, she reasons. How can an advisor work well under so much constant pressure? She almost brings Leliana, but decides they need someone to keep the castle from burning down while they’re away. Cassandra would be supportive and definitely try her best, but Morinthe doesn’t think she’d really be of much help in this circumstance ultimately. So, it ends up being just she and Josephine.

 

He watches her as she leaves, standing in the shadow of the rotunda’s doorway. Shade is thrown over his features, but she can see the way his knuckles whiten as his hand casually grips the door frame. Morinthe tries to keep her gaze forward, but she feels the goosebumps crawling along her arms again. As she leaves the double doors behind her, however, the nervous energy breaks into an anticipatory grin.

 

Morinthe is more than a little surprised by all of this. She’d always assumed from his rather detached demeanor that he’d always been less enthused in their relationship, which she’d been more or less alright with. Not all pairings are meant to last forever, after all. He’d said that he loved her, but people say that all of the time. He’s always been so reluctant to prove it.

 

She’s still not completely certain, despite what Cole’s said. Maybe it is just a sex thing, some kind of kink. What if she’s reading him wrong? 

 

_ No _ , she thinks.  _ Cole’s never wrong. _

 

“So what exactly is our secret assignment, Inquisitor?” Josephine whispers to her.

 

“Morinthe, and not here. The walls are made of noses.” Morinthe hisses, eyes darting to the sides. “You will find out soon, my privileged accomplice.”

 

“I truly hope this gut wrenching fear is unwarranted.” She twitters as they cross the courtyard and exit through the open gate.

 

* * *

 

They return at dusk a week and a half later. Morinthe’s task hadn’t taken that long, of course, just an afternoon, but a day and a night plus the travel time kept her away for a while. It’s given her plenty of time to brood and doubt, unfortunately. She considers tossing the two packages down the mountain as they return, but she manages to control the impulse.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Josephine whispers to her. The way Morinthe is clenching the boxes probably isn’t subtle. “Even if it isn’t to his taste, he’ll be glad to know you thought of him.”

 

“Okay.” Morinthe stutters, staring down at the cases. She doesn’t like the packaging, the baige has too much yellow in it. It’ll have to go. She’s wearing a cloak, so she hides them underneath her arm as they enter the front hall.

 

She limply greets Varric at the door, and he seems as though he might be a little tipsy. Morinthe hopes that he doesn’t notice how much she’s shaking, but it’s really rather futile. Why do all of her companions have to be so perceptive? Why can’t she develop a poker face to save her life?

 

Josephine wishes her luck and quickly scurries ahead, mind probably buzzing with all of the ends she’s left loose these past few days, but Morinthe is slower in making her way to her quarters. It’s mostly the nausea giving her trouble.

 

Morinthe had been counting on him being his usual, reclusive self, but of course this evening is the one in which he decides to veer outside of his normal routine.

 

“ _ Vhenan _ ,” he says, and Morinthe nearly drops the damn things. He’s sitting at the long table to her right, book open in front of him and a small plate a bit of bread and cheese beside it. “You have returned. No one could tell me where you had gone. Has something happened?”

 

He’s been worrying about her. Idiot, she should have at least given a hint at where she’d gone. The entire affair had been rather suspicious, now that she thinks about it.

 

“I, ah, no. Nothing. Everything’s fine, thank you.” Morinthe says, staring down at her feet. “I need to go. There’s something I have to take care of.”

 

“...Alright.” Solas replies slowly. Great, she’s only made things worse. He probably thinks that she’s lost her mind. She doesn’t really trust herself not to dig the hole deeper, so she locks her gaze on the floor and marches to her room.

 

“He’s never going to want to talk to me again.” She sighs, tossing the packages and herself onto her bed with a huff. “Why’d you have to be such an asshole about it?”

 

It’s foolish, this whole idea had been foolish. Well, maybe her first thought hadn’t been that bad, but Josephine just had to talk her into... 

 

She pops open the lid of the larger box with a scowl. Morinthe picks up the lacy monstrosity between her thumb and forefinger, as if it’s infectious. Barely even small clothes at all, and what’s the point of the tiny belt thing? Josey says it’s supposed to go around her thigh for some reason. The breast band looks itchy too, unlined and see-through. What’s the human fascination with lace anyway? 

 

It’s all way too shem-y. He’d probably she’s an idiot if she wore any of this ridiculous stuff. A complete waste of money; she could’ve gotten some dragon bones from the Emporium for what she’d spent on this.

 

Morinthe drops the scrap of cloth back into its bedding of tissue paper and slams the lid back down. It finds a new home under the bed.

 

She moves on to the smaller one, tiny enough to hold in her hands. She tears the wrapping off and unfolds the top, and inside is revealed the glass spray bottle. Morinthe may or may not have spent three hours mulling over different scents, and a great portion of that time deciding between two in particular.

 

Morinthe sprays it into the palm of her hand, and she can’t help but smile. It’s like the walking through the woods the morning after a storm. The perfume isn’t quite a perfect replication like his spell had been, but it’s the best she can manage. Should she test it out in person? Maybe just leave it on his desk; that’d be significantly less awkward for her.

 

Then again, he’d probably think someone had left it there by accident. A note then, maybe?

 

She grabs a piece of the nice parchment on her desk, and she has to stop herself from chewing on the quill tip.

 

Morinthe could be quick, to the point. Or she could write three pages front and back. It’s either one or the other, really. Maybe he’d appreciate the simplicity, the action would speak for itself and such.

 

“With love? No, way too corny.” She mutters, crumpling up the paper and tossing it. She starts again. “Morinthe, just from Morinthe. Don’t make a big deal out of anything. Just incredibly sentimental and romantic. Why do I even try?”

 

A dash and her name is what she goes with, and as much as she wants to run down the stairs, toss it at him, and come right back, Morinthe has to wait. He usually heads to his room around midnight or so. She can’t be caught, absolutely can’t.

 

So, she stares at the ceiling to a few hours, the paper and the bottle clenched tightly over her stomach. She’s determined to think about anything other than what she plans on doing, lest she think herself out of it. So, she ponders about how much elfroot she needs to improve her potions, then the various medicinal applications for the plant, etc. It’s boring enough that she actually manages to doze off after awhile.

 

She’d been more tired from the journey that she’d realized, and when she does wake up it’s to the blue of early morning. Morinthe would have to go now, or she’d miss her chance.

 

She slips down the stairs on silent bare feet, and through the great hall empty of all but a few cleaning ladies or nurses carrying fresh sheets. Unlike nobles, they take very little open interest in what she’s doing, consumed in their tasks.

 

Morinthe sets the bottle on the desk with the brief note folded underneath it, and she turns to leave before something catches her eye. With curious fingers, she traces deep, fresh scratches in the wood on the left side. His notes as well, written entirely in elvhen, are covered in furious black scribbles and smudges. Morinthe grinds her teeth at her complete inability to conclusively translate any of it, but she spots some troubling key words. “Gone”, “thrown away” or “cast away”, quite a few “why”s as well. One in particular makes her heart sink:

 

_ “Fool” _

 

She’s always felt outclassed by him. Morinthe hasn’t seen much of the world, and all she can think of is how ignorant she is whenever he starts about his story telling. She feels small and childish in his tall shadow. She is younger, after all, than almost all of her companions and advisors. Twenty-four, nothing but a girl in six feet deep over her head.

 

He’s never seemed to see her that way, though. Solas has always respected all of her decisions, and he’s not exactly secretive when he thinks someone is truly an idiot. Morinthe had assumed until now that these thoughts had been mostly in her head. Could it be true, though? Maybe he’s only using her. A girl he can have to prop up his ego and screw whenever he feels like it, too stupid to realize the trick.

 

_ You’re massively overreacting _ , she thinks to herself.  _ There’s not even any context here. He could be talking about someone else entirely. You have no way of knowing. _

 

Morinthe takes a deep breath and turns away. Best to just go back to bed. Maybe she’d feel a bit less paranoid if she slept some more.

 

She returns to her room and, this time, strips down to her smalls before crawling in between the silken sheets. It’s almost enough to make her believe in some kind of god, though she’s always been rather agnostic personally. She’d had to sleep in the carriage they’d taken (Josephine can’t survive riding that long), and her neck had been hurting for days.

 

She passes out rather quickly, and when she stirs again it’s with the sun on her face. She hears something sliding across the sheets, but she’s on her side turned away from whatever is making the sound. She smells something, though. The damp forest, ozone in the air. She smiles to herself as arms wrap around her midsection, and she lets them drag her into a warm chest.

 

“I was not sure you wished to stay with me.” he admits in a whisper. “I was too forward. I’d reasoned that I had misinterpreted the nature of our relationship, that you wanted something more casual.”

 

“No, I’m sorry.” Morinthe murmurs, settling her hands over his. Such long fingers he has. “I didn’t exactly communicate what I was feeling very well. I’m not particularly adept at that I’m afraid.”

 

“Neither am I.” he rumbles, resting his chin on her hair. “The spell I used, it is a tradition of courtship from Elvhenan. It was a prideful thing, mostly, a declaration. There are, nuances of the magic that are lost on this world I’m afraid. It had felt right, in the moment. I am not particularly experienced in this, though.”

 

“Solas isn’t experienced in something? I never thought I’d see the day…” Morinthe chuckles. He gives her a scolding pinch on the butt, which of course makes her jump. It’s a tough life, being this damn ticklish all of the time.

 

“Yes, you may be surprised to know that I have not had many lasting relationships in my life. It has never been a priority before.” He breathes her in again, which is strange considering that his spell has long worn off. “I am blessed to have a woman gracious enough to endure my ignorance on the subject.”

 

“You really were worried, weren’t you?” It dawns on her. He’s been torturing himself over this for the past week and a half without her there to tell him he’s being an idiot. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. It didn’t bother me or anything. I was just kind of caught off guard.”

 

“I suppose it did come out of nowhere. I assure you, though, I have felt this way for some time now. I was unsure whether or not I should make that clear to you. Whether it was right to.” He murmurs. “I have found, however, more and more lately that I don’t really care.” He punctuates this with a bite to the ear and a kiss on the neck.

 

“And what’s so wrong with it? If Vivienne’s complaining about you being an apostate to the nobles again…” She growls.

 

“Ha, as if I’ve ever cared about what Vivienne thinks of me?” Solas gives a breathy laugh. “It is somewhat more complex than that, I am afraid.”

 

“Try me.” she challenges.

 

“Well, there is for instance, the issue of the age gap.” He breathes. “Though I often forget it. Yours is an old spirit.”

 

Her heart sinks somewhat. “I, um, was aware, but I never thought you were that much older than I am.”

 

“I am somewhat older than I appear,  _ vhenan _ .” he whispers. And right back into the grim zone. So much for sexy Solas. She’s used to how fleeting he is, though. It’s worth it, though, for that freckled butt. Like a peach, makes her want to take a big bite out of it.

 

Her mind tends to wander when she’s with him. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s mostly naked.

 

“That’s alright. May I use a food metaphor?” She asks, trying and failing to turn her head and look at him. He could afford to not be holding on so tight.

 

“Permission granted.” He sighs, a rush of air tickling the top of her head.

 

“Some people age like a nice red wine, and others like a slab of raw meat in the sun. Count yourself fortunate.” she chirps.

 

“What lovely imagery.” He flatly replies, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And thank you, I think.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not exactly the best at the romance thing either, by the by.” Morinthe giggles. “But I’m blessed enough to have a man who finds my awkwardness charming.”

 

Solas does his deep, rumble purr, her favorite Solas noise of all. He only does it when they’re alone, and when he’s happy and comfortable. Morinthe feels rather privileged to have incited it, considering how much distance he usually puts between himself and other people.

 

“I’ve missed you, Morinthe.” he says. Solas presses his face into her hair now, like he’s hiding. “It feels as though I’ve been missing you my entire life, even if I had not known so until meeting you. Is that odd?”

 

“No, not at all.” she whispers back. Morinthe glances to the windows as they begin to creak in the wind. “I’ve missed you too.”

 

He hisses through his teeth, and the hands on her stomach begin to clench and dig into the skin. It’s not to an uncomfortable extent, but it’s a little troubling.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

 

“Nothing.” he murmurs. “Nothing yet, anyway. This is perfect, but, it may not last. We’ve many battles left ahead of us, all of them very uncertain…”

 

“None of that, now.” she quips. “You’re right, this is perfect. Let’s not worry about tomorrow, hm? We have right now, at the very least.”

 

“Yes, we do.” he softly agrees, though she can still feel the tension in his frame. She wishes there was something she could do to ease the knot there always is in him, but there seems to be nothing for it. A part of Morinthe has come to understand that his troubles run deeper than Corypheus, and for the moment they’re beyond her.

 

He slips his hand out from underneath hers and brushes her hair away from the back of her neck. Then, he presses his lips to the skin there, and he begins to cast again. The words, with no one else there to hear them, are clearer this time. She can hear each lilting syllable, carefully articulated as if every piece is something precious. There’s a meter to it, she realizes. It’s similar to the cadence with which he sometimes speaks, the steady rhythm of a peaceful heart.

 

Jasmines in the air again, mingling with the rain. They complement each other better than she may have thought.

 

“Why jasmine, if I may ask?” she wonders aloud.

 

“They only grow in the summer.” He surmises. “And do you know what they symbolize in Ravain?”

 

“What?” she plays along.

 

“Eternal love.” he whispers into her ear.

 

She stares in silence out of the brightening window for a moment or two. Morinthe feels a great deal, but the words aren’t catching up to her quite yet. All she can really manage is a weak laugh.

 

“You always have to be so adorably sentimental, don’t you?” she says. Morinthe lifts up her hand to swipe away a fugitive tear.

 

“It comes with age.” he chuckles.

 

“I love you.” she whispers.

  
“ _ Ar lath ma, vhenan. _ ” 


End file.
